


Aftermath

by DaughterofElros



Series: What You Will of Me [10]
Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:45:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofElros/pseuds/DaughterofElros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which things do not go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

William raised his head sharply at the sound of footsteps echoing in the torch-lit corridor.

“Well?” he demanded of the soldier who appeared in the doorway. Thomas, he recalled. Captain Iver Thomas. “What news?” The man shook his head sadly.

“No news, Milord. The last party has just returned from Tarrowhall. No one has seen her, Milord, nor the Lord Huntsman either. They haven’t passed through any of the towns or villages along the coast.”

William reached for the iron paperweight on the table, rolling it from hand to hand as he paced. “Then she must have gone inland.” He concluded.

“Aye sir.” The soldier nodded.

“Into the Dark Forest.” His tone was matter-of-fact. There was a beat of troubled silence before the man nodded again.

“Aye.”

William nodded slowly, almost to himself. Then he looked to the captain.

“Arrange your men into teams of ten,” he ordered brusquely. “We are going after her.”

The other man looked unhappy, but he nodded anyway. It seemed the only thing he did with any confidence.

“How many teams would you like me to assemble, Milord?” he asked dutifully. William considered this.

“Twenty might suffice.” The captain’s eyes widened dramatically, giving him the somewhat unfortunate appearance of a frog.

“T-twenty?” he stammered, trying unsuccessfully to contain his shock. “That’s two hundred men, sir! Nearly half our garrison. To send that many away would be to leave the castle dangerously under-defended.”

“And what good is a castle without a queen?” William demanded furiously, his voice rising to crash over the soldier, who reeled back a bit at the sudden onslaught. “I would have every knight, soldier, and stable boy in the kingdom ride out after her if I thought it would help! Two hundred men is nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing! See that it is done!” He was still seething as the Captain bowed hastily and made his way to the door.

A moment passed in silence before his Father, who had remained silent through the exchange, decided to speak.

“A bold decision, son. They cannot help but find her. But you should remain here,” the Duke advised, “Not ride out with the men. There is greater need of you in the castle.”

“You would have me leave her out there?” William turned to him. “Forgive me Father, but I will not abandon her as you did so many years ago. It has been _four days_ since she was last seen. This search grows ever more desperate- I will not stand idly by while others search for her. I cannot.”

“And what of the letter she left?” the older man queried. William’s eyes narrowed.

“I thought you did not trust the letter.”

“I do not. It is too strange to be coincidence that the Queen disappears the very night that the Lord Huntsman, who is of no noble birth and yet who has still managed to acquire a title and so much more from the Queen, vanishes as well.” The older man shook his head. “Ravenna sent him to bring her Snow White once before, and there is no guarantee that he does not still intend to carry out his task.” He looked grim. “Not all of Ravenna’s supporters have been apprehended. He could have tricked her, or forced her to write the note and taken her to one of them. Any supporter of Ravenna’s would pay handsomely for her.”

“Which is why we must find her! Every second we delay may put her in more peril!” William exclaimed. Even as he said it though, he had his doubts. The Huntsman irritated him to no end, but he had fought alongside the man. They had little enough in common beyond an affinity of killing things in battle, but what they did agree on was the fact that they would each die to protect Snow. The Queen. He did not think it likely the man would kidnap her to sell her to a hostile ruler.

 He had other concerns though. He was all too familiar with the way the Huntsman looked at her. He felt the echo of it in his own gaze when he looked upon the Queen. The man wanted her, he could see it. And if they were alone in the forest together, without anyone else to stand between them… the thought of what the Huntsman might do to her made his blood boil. They must be found. Immediately.

“But what if the letter is of her own hand?” the Duke countered, unaware of his son’s thoughts. “She tells us that there is no need to search for her, and leaves the running of the Kingdom jointly in our hands while she is away. If that is her wish, and you abandon the castle to search for her, she will be most displeased when she returns. You risk everything then- not just her ire, but your standing and esteem in her eyes. What’s more, if you are not the one who finds her, then it will be many days before news of her return reaches you, and longer still before you are returned yourself.”

This logic of this finally appealed to William’s sense of reason, and he slumped into the nearest chair.

“Fine.” He bit out. “I will stay.” He glared sulkily at his father. “But I will lead a daily foray of the land around the castle in case she is able to return. I cannot stand idly by.”

“I am not asking you to, Son.” The Duke said. The last thing he needed was his boy running out on yet another foolhardy quest to find the missing Queen. Better that he stayed here, safe, no matter how sullen he appeared.

William stared into the flame of the nearest candle. He would heed his Father’s wisdom. But if the Huntsman had harmed his Snow White in any way, no power on heaven or earth would protect the man from his wrath.

 

*        *       *

 

The heat built throughout the day, sapping the life from everything. Eric felt an odd kinship with the wilting plants that they passed- he too felt like he was drooping under the intensity of the sun. In no time at all the refreshing coolness of the stream was a distant memory, although the same could not be said for the memory of what had happened in that stream.  The heat was made more oppressive due to the fact that they had ridden in silence since the incident. Normally, there was an easy ebb and flow of words between them- her pointing out things that she found beautiful or curious or enthralling, and he taking opportunities to show her things that would help her to survive in the wild, from medicinal plants to yellow Locstoc berries, a handful of which were enough to kill a grown man. When they had lapsed into silence, it had been companionable and pleasant. Peaceful, even.

This had not been the case for the past several hours, however. This silence teemed with words left unsaid and had a deep, sullen quality to it. Neither one of them attempted to break it, each stewing in their own thoughts. He cursed himself for his rash behavior and lack of thought, and cursed her for managing to make him lose the control he had clung so tightly to. For the Queen’s part, she remained aloof, settling her features into a cool, emotionless mask. He knew, of course, that it was a ruse. A glimpse in her eyes would reveal a gathering storm, if you knew how to read her. He did, which was why he did not glance back at her often. He did not want to see what was brewing behind those jade green eyes any more than he wanted to acknowledge that what was between them felt like it was cooling and cracking. Shattering the silence with speech felt like it might also shatter something else, something irreparable. He could not abide that thought, so silence seemed the safer, albeit more cowardly option.

As they drew closer to the town, he began to sense that Snow was behaving more cheerfully. She urged her horse up along his so that they were riding nearly side by side, and even offered him a shy hint of a smile. That little quirk of her lips made his spirits lift immensely.

The track they were on joined with the main road perhaps a mile outside of town, and they began to see other people passing by on foot or with carts pulled by oxen and mules. Another rider on horseback passed them, tipping his hat jovially as he trotted past. It wasn’t long before farmland gave way to houses, which crowded closer and closer together as they reached the heart of the town. Most of the buildings were made with wood, and all had thatched roofs, but a few were half-timbered, the gaps between their wooden frames filled with white plaster. The road they traveled over was not cobbled like the streets of Tabor outside the castle walls, but rather dirt, churned muddy with the recent rain and only now beginning to dry in the heat and sun.

The streets grew more congested with livestock, carts, and people weaving about on foot. Riverton bustled more than Tabor. Its citizens did not look so desperate and near-starved either, although one could scarcely call them well-fed. There was a clamor in the air as they neared the marketplace in the center of town where the townsfolk went about their business, hawking wares, livestock, and produce. He caught her staring in wonder at the sights about them as they rode through the town. Suddenly though, she reined her horse in, coming to a stop at the side of the street. He wheeled around to return to her, thinking that something was wrong. Instead, he saw what had made her pause. A little beggar boy, not more than eight or nine was huddled in an alcove between two close buildings. The Queen had spotted him somehow, and stopped. Now she rummaged through her saddlebag, coming up at last with the two apples that Thom and Ida had pressed upon them. Holding them up, she beckoned to the boy, who crept out of his shaded hidey-hole warily. As he moved, Eric realized that there was another figure behind him. It was a little blonde girl, no more than five, who had been crouched behind her brother. How Snow had seen them both in the shadows baffled him, but he had not protest as she handed the apples to the boy.

“What’s your name?” she asked kindly.

The child regarded her skeptically. “Alorec.” He told her finally.

She nodded. “That’s a very strong name. Alorec.” The child seemed to warm to her a bit. “I tell you what, Alorec,” she continued, “I need some help. You see, we’re looking for a place to spend the night in Riverton, and I could use someone to tell be where the best inn or tavern is. I’ve a loaf of bread for anyone that can point me in the right direction.” The boy, tow-headed despite the layer of filth in his hair, apparently decided he liked her.

“There’s the Old Dun Cow, down by the river docks,” he offered, “But you don’ wanna go there. It smells, an’ it’s full of soldiers an’ the food inna very good. Look for the Wayfinder Inn instead. It’s two streets off the river, but much better.”

“Thank you, Alorec.” She beamed at him. No man could withstand that smile, and the beggar boy was no exception. His mouth spread in a gap-toothed grin as she pulled the bread out of her bag as well, handing it to the child. “What’s your sister’s name?” she asked, nodding to where the girl still hovered in the shadows.

“Marcie.” He responded. Snow nodded.

“Well, tell Marcie hello for me, and make sure she gets a bit of that bread to eat.” The boy nodded solemnly, and even stayed to wave at her as she nudged her mount into motion again.

“That was well done.” He told her quietly when they had gone a short distance.

“It was the right thing to do,” she said simply.

“I don’t mean just the food,” he told her patiently. “I mean the way you talked to him, like he matters and is important. The way you made him feel that the gift wasn’t charity.” She looked surprised.

“He does matter,” she protested.

“Not to everyone.” Eric shook his head. “Not even to most.  That’s what sets you apart. And that you took the time to talk to him, rather than just tossing him food or farthing and riding on. That matters too.”

It did not take long to reach the Wayfinder. It was a tall building, at least three stories, and situated atop a tiny hill. Most of its half-timbered walls were cast in the early-evening shadows, but the very top of the building still caught the rays of the sun.

Inside, the air was cool if somewhat stale, smelling of old ale. The floor was sticky from spills, but the tables and rough stools looked clean enough, and the bar in the corner shone even in the weak light that filtered in through the windows. A few patrons were scattered around the taproom, nursing pints in pewter tankards, but it was too early yet to draw a large crowd. In another hour or two, there likely wouldn’t be room to move without jarring elbows with someone, but for now it was relatively quiet.

 A tall man with hair the color of flame who seemed to be the proprietor stood behind the bar, polishing it still further with a clean cloth. He flipped the cloth over his shoulder as Eric approached, and braced his massive arms against the bar.

“What can I get you?” he asked easily. There was something about him that Eric liked immediately.

“I need a room for myself and the lady. Private, and without much traffic.”

“Your wife?” the red-haired man asked with mild interest, glancing to where Snow still hovered near the door, keeping an eye on the horses hitched outside.

“My charge.” He corrected, lies twisting with truths as he spoke. “I’m her bodyguard. Been hired to make sure the lass is brought safely to her Uncle in Whitstable.” He purposely named a town some distance to the east, knowing that they intended to head north when they set out again. The red-haired man nodded.

“We’re far from full up, so I can put you on the third floor for the night. Not likely there’ll be enough lodgers tonight to warrant many up on the top floor. Should be peaceful, at least. Only problem is that the rooms up there have just the one bed, and not even enough room for a cot.” He shrugged apologetically. “I can give you an extra bedroll, but you’ll be left to sleep on the floor.”

Eric shrugged. “I’m accustomed to it.” He dug into the pouch Snow had handed him for the silver to pay for the room, laying it on the bar. The tall man whisked it away in a deceptively graceful movement, almost as soon as it was laid. It made Eric wonder what he had done before becoming an innkeep. Might be had had fought in the wars, but he didn’t seem just any common soldier.

“Top of the stairs, and third room on the left.” He told Eric. “There’s a latch on the inside of the door.” He flagged down a slender black-haired youth who had just stepped behind the bar. “Barth can help you with your bags, and see to your horses if you have any. If you have need of anything, just ask for Kane.” He said, gesturing to himself.

“I’ll do that.” Eric promised, stepping away from the bar.

True to Barth’s word, he helped them carry their bags up the narrow flights of wooden stairs to their room. More accurately, he carried Snow’s bags for her, leaving Eric to handle his own, which was perfectly fine. He would have felt ridiculous having a boy only a few years his junior perform a task that he was perfectly capable of doing himself. The boy showed them to the room, deposited Snow’s belongings on the bed, and ducked out to see to the horses, blushing a bit whenever he looked at her. He shut the door behind him, and suddenly they were alone in the little room. It felt much different from being alone in the forest, or at the farmhouse or even at the castle. In any of those places they might be interrupted by another person but here… here they were sequestered, separate from the world, and unlikely to be disturbed. Eric began to wonder if perhaps he should have asked for separate rooms after all, no matter how much more difficult it would make it to guard her. She turned to him, just as much aware of the tension that had begun to creep up between them again as he was.

“About earlier…” she began.

“So we’re going to talk about it then.”

“How can you do that?” she asked in annoyance. “Ignore everything between us, I mean.”

“I’m not ignoring it.”

“No, you’re just refusing to acknowledge it,” she countered.

“What would you have me do?” he asked, trying to tamp down the irritation he felt rising within him.

“I would have you admit that there is something between us! That there is a reason for this dance we have been doing since the day you decided to recuse me,” she exploded.

“And what good would that be?” he challenged her. “Other than to put us closer to acting upon the desires we have, which is the one thing we cannot do!”

“Why can’t we?”

“Because you are the _Queen_!” he said heatedly.

“Exactly.” She shot back. “I _am_ the Queen, and a woman grown. I can make up my own mind about what actions I take.”

“And what of the future?” Eric demanded. “When you marry some lord, or the second son of another Kingdom to seal an alliance and your new husband discovers that he is not the first to have you? That you gave yourself to a man who with worth very little in this world rather than wait? And what if that marriage treaty were all that kept Tabor from war, or famine, or defeat in battle? Can you not see that this is the way it must be? That it is better for us to restrain ourselves, no matter how difficult it seems?” he implored. She clenched her jaw.

“How can it be better?” she asked, and he detected a note of weariness in her tone. “To wait, and save myself for a nameless, faceless man that I have not met and for whom I feel nothing? When _you_ are the man I care for, and you stand before me now? Why are you so intent to place this specter’s interests above your own?” She stepped closer to him. “I would have the truth from you, Huntsman. You balk at the notion of acting my betrothed, you turn from my touch and hold yourself apart from me. If you truly do not feel for me what I feel for you, then I must accept that. But do not pretend with me.” She laid her hand atop his crossed arm.

“We are not in the middle of a stream, Eric.” She said softly. “We are alone in this room with a bed not three paces away. I believe that you desire me as I desire you. You told me as much, once. I beg you now, if you love me, to act upon those feelings. Teach me what it is to have a lover, to _be_ a lover. All I want…is you.”

He closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him. It would be so easy to do it, to kiss her again slowly, sensuously, pouring everything he felt into it. So easy to take her in his arms and tumble them into the bed, to undress her fully and witness her laid out before him for the taking. He would take the time to explore her first, to find the ways to touch her that would make her shiver and cry out with pleasure. And when he finally did take her, after he had tortured them both by holding back for so long, he would be infinitely gentle so that she recalled the pleasure of the coupling rather than the pain.

It would take so little. She was right here, within his grasp, reaching for him, begging this of him. He _wanted_ not to refuse her. What’s more, the thought of any other man having her in the ways he imagined, inevitable though it was, reviled him.

But he had also made a vow, and he was a man of his word. He would not break that vow to protect her, even if it meant protecting her from himself. No matter how much they both desired it, he would not be the cause of her disgrace. Not even if it meant having her believe that he did not want this, did not yearn for her. She might come to despise him for it, but that was the consequence paid for letting things go so far, for letting himself forget, even for a second, that she was a Queen and he had been born nothing more than a commoner. He might be a lord now, but in name only. William had pegged him correctly- a stray dog masquerading as a nobleman, like some mummer’s farce.

He could not look at her. If he did, he might not have the strength to refuse her. He knew that her lips were mere inches away, and that made it all the harder to suffer through the words he was forced to utter.

“I cannot, Milady.” He felt her step away from him and knew beyond doubt that she was hurt by his refusal.

“I understand,” she murmured. But of course, she did not. He wanted to speak, to tell her something that would lessen her pain, but his tongue was like lead in his mouth and he could not find the words. He stood helplessly instead, noting how close the room suddenly seemed. She kept her back to him, fumbling for something in her bag with fierce, jerky movements. It occurred to him that she was not only hurt, but angry as well. She had the right, of course. She seemed to feel the same way, because she whirled to face him suddenly, eyes flashing.

“Why?” she demanded, and it seemed she might be fighting back tears. “Why did you lead me on? Why kiss me like you did this morning, why treat me kindly and make me depend on you, and think that you’re the only person in the whole kingdom who can understand me? Why tell me that you would worship every part of me if you meant _none_ of it?”

It stung to have his actions and words flung back in his face, and it raised his ire to point of ignition.

“Because I am weak,” he confessed bitterly, “and it is because of this that I have told you things, and wished for things that cannot happen, and done things that I should not have done. But there is a line- a limit that I will not cross.” Almost without realizing it, he had backed her up against the plastered wall. She stared back at him defiantly, and damned if he wasn’t _still_ tempted to crush his lips to hers and let the sparks of rage kindle an entirely different type of fire. Her eyes clearly issued a challenge, and there was an edge of darkness in them that he had not seen there before.

“I could command it of you.” She threatened, her voice so low that it was barely audible. He understood her well enough though, and his expression darkened.

“You could.” He told her tightly, bracing his arm against the wall above her head, intentionally invading her space. “You _are_ the Queen. And if you ordered me into your bed, it would become my duty. But do not mistake me. I could not hold love in my heart for a woman who would force me to do such a thing. And I would never forgive you for what it would make me become. So think long and hard about uttering that command, Your Highness.” He shoved away from her, his anger plain enough to see. “I would have expected that from the last Queen of this realm, but never from you.” With that last parting shot, he wrenched the door open and stormed out.

Snow slid to the ground in a heap, the strength going out of her limbs. She was shocked and appalled at herself, at what she had suggested, and horrified at the reaction she had caused. “I wouldn’t,” she whispered aloud to the room. “I couldn’t.” But he was not there to hear. It wasn’t until she felt the splashes on her hand that she even registered that she was crying. Then, her tears began to fall in earnest. She leaned her head against the wall and sobbed, curling in on herself and wondering what evil within her had ever possessed her to say it at all.

Downstairs, the Huntsman clamored down the last of the stairs and headed straight for the bar. He caught sight of Kane and lifted two fingers to him in a drunkard’s salute as he slid on the weathered barstool. The big flame-haired man finished the beer he had been pouring, handed it to the customer before him smoothly, and made his way to Eric’s end of the bar.

“What can I get you?” he asked. Eric didn’t hesitate.

“Whiskey.”

Kane nodded and snagged a glass from behind him and the bottle from beneath the bar. He poured a liberal amount of amber liquid into the glass. Eric took it, raised it in a half-hearted toast, and swallowed the lot of it in one burning gulp. Kane raised his eyebrows, then uncorked the bottle and splashed more whiskey into the glass.

“Second one’s on the house, mate.” He remarked. “You look like you need it.”

Eric contemplated the glass in his hand.

“You have no idea.”

 


End file.
